One Thousand Minutes
by gleamingeyes
Summary: [Drabbles]  A series of drabbles about experiences shared by the Marauders and Lily, during and after their time at Hogwarts, told from different perspectives.  First up: Sorting.  Will include such themes as First Kiss, Graduation, etc.
1. Sorting

**This is a lot different from the other stuff I've written so far—actually, from **_**any**_**thing I've written so far. It is—if my education on Fanfiction serves me—a "series of drabbles". I don't know if anything exactly like this [rough plot has been done before (I hope it hasn't, but the odds are, amongst hundreds of thousands of HP stories, it has). Anywho, this will encompass moments shared by the Marauders and Lily (Sorting, graduation), or the same general experience that each of them would be able to tell about individually (first kiss, death). …But never mind me—read on, read on!**

**---**

**1: Sorting**

_Dimidium facti qui coepit habet._

—Horace (Latin, What's well begun is half done.)

They stood in a long line, their backs pressed against the cold stone wall, their small faces tight with anxiety and fear. Terror had struck them deaf, unable to hear the Sorting Hat's clever verses, or McGonagall's short, kindly speech; apprehension had rendered them dumb, and they no longer chatted easily with their neighbors.

First an Abbot, then an Anderson and Benton, were sorted; then McGonagall, thin and stately and cold, called out, with the tiniest thread of distaste, "_Black, Sirius!_"

A dark-haired boy with huge grey eyes staring out from a finely molded face stepped quickly towards the short wooden stool, so horribly centered before the watching faces of the hundreds of Hogwarts students. His hands shook slightly as he placed the faded Hat upon his head. He didn't fear the Hat, but rather its decision—he knew, from his cold toes to his uneasy stomach to the tips of his shaggy black locks, that he wasn't a Slytherin, knew even at the age of eleven that he was different from all his family…

Near the middle of the line, a skinny boy with extremely messy hair crossed his fingers.

_Different, hmm? _murmured a slightly snide voice inside his head. Sirius snarled back at the Hat with a long childhood's memories of witnessing abuse rained on House-Elves, of rescuing small animals from his cousins' cruel clutches, of secretly hating his nasty, spiteful mother.

_This is a Black?_ said the Hat, sounding amused. _You hate Slytherins. You're all wizards, mind, no matter your brief and petty loyalties…It isn't the House that you should hate, boy, but rather the people who tarnish its name_.

_Don't you _dare_ put me in Slytherin_, growled Sirius silently, with all the righteous arrogance of a coddled pureblood.

_A good mind, but too great a thirst for adventure—Ravenclaw? Hufflepuff—an ingrained willingness to obey—but that will give way, too soon, too soon. _There was no sound, not even in Sirius's head, but he had the impression of laughter. _Cunning, ruthlessness, anger—those are Slytherin traits, my boy._

Sirius sat very still, his young jaw clenched, his small fists clenched on the edges of the stool.

There was laughter again, unformed, unsounded, but undoubtedly recognizable.

_I live for moments like these,_ the Hat said. _You know who you are—who you'll always be—_ "GRYFFINDOR!"

The hall erupted in cheers—he was Gryffindor's first new student. McGonagall's swift glance was puzzled but welcoming. James Potter, standing straight and tall in line, bellowed his approval.

And Sirius himself, smirking a little as though he had always known that he, pureblood, descendant of the infamous Blacks, had never doubted this moment, this destiny; and he settled himself contentedly on a bench and grinned as the Gryffindors, so suddenly his fellows, rained their praises upon him.

There was a Brinden, Calsim, Clearwater, Crockdear, and a Cunnart; a Dart, Derrick, Drole, and Duncan; then the E's, Earnings, Ebbitt, and then, at last, Evans.

A slim girl with a small pale face and long, thick, dark-red hair walked shakily towards the stool warmed by the many children's fear. She sat, holding her skinny legs together and tucking them in close to her, even as she set the Sorting Hat upon her head.

_Ah_, said the Hat, and Lily jumped as she heard it speaking in her head, glancing around quickly to see if indeed it had been somebody else; then she remembered Severus's words, and calmed a little. _A great mind—a very great mind. There is fear and uncertainty, but you face it bravely; you are alone, but you don't consider failure. _

Lily sat very still, trying to think of nothing at all and failing miserably. Memories, thoughts, even little useless facts flashed through her mind over and over, and she knew each one was seen and considered and examined by the Hat on her head.

_Naturally_, agreed the small voice in her mind with a shadow of wry good humor. _You're not as hard a choice as you could be. Beware, Lily Evans. A little more hurt, a little more disaster, and this decision would have gone awry…_

Lily didn't like the sound of that, but was distracted by the bellow above her— "GRYFFINDOR!"

She stood quickly—too quickly; she swayed a little, sat back down hard, and at last managed, blinking stupidly, to regain her bearings. She handed the Hat to the boy waiting to take it, and wasn't sorry to see it go as she made her way to the table on her far left. The boy from the train, who had mocked Severus so cruelly, moved down the bench for her, grinning. Confused, it took her a moment to recognize him; then she scowled darkly and seated herself as far as possible from him, firmly turning her back to watch the rest of the Sorting.

The names ran together. Nobody paid attention to them anymore, not to the names, at least; they watched the Hat, wondering what he was saying in secret, bellowing their triumph and welcome as it named another new student to their House.

People did notice _Lupin, Remus_, though. He was very small—both short and skinny—and his masses of uncut blonde hair only served to make his thin head and shoulders appear smaller, and he looked so utterly terrified of everyone around him that the reaction was instantaneous. The Slytherins jeered, and the Hufflepuffs frowned gently, and the Ravenclaws reasonably deduced his addition to the badger clan. The Gryffindors noted with surprise and pleasure that, despite his scurrying stride, he slowed a few feet before the stool and squared his shoulder proudly, lifting his head in noble rebelliousness against his fear.

"Hufflepuff," Sirius whispered confidingly to Lily, who ignored him.

Remus himself was glad of the others' reactions towards him. They hissed at him because he was a coward, not a monster; they offered pity because he was frightened, not bitten; they grinned at him because he showed courage, not in defiance to the fact that he could tear them to pieces once a month. He smiled a little as he sat down. Perhaps the Headmaster had been right, after all…

_He is, every now and then_, said a voice inside his head. He'd been ready for it, but it still shocked him. It was a voice like his thoughts, but he knew, and was deeply discomfited by the knowledge, that they were _not_ his thoughts. _A werewolf, hmm?_

Remus frowned. _I'm a _person, he retorted coldly, and his conviction was solid.

_You are a wizard_, agreed the Hat. _But what type of wizard?_

Remus found himself becoming oddly annoyed with this _thing_ atop his head. How could _it_ judge _him?_ He was shocked by its response: _Isn't that just the thing you hate all your fellows for? For seeing you as an animal rather than a wizard?_

Remus's frown deepened—it was true, and he was chastened. Everybody would always judge everybody else, he realized suddenly, beneath the gazes of innumerable students and the weight of the next seven years of his life. Did anybody ever have a right?

_They always have a right,_ was the Hat's unfathomable response. _And you are a _"GRYFFINDOR!"

Remus, dazed but pleased, was all too relieved to remove the Hat, and the solemnity of the previous moment was already passing rapidly away as he walked, quickly but calmly, to his new table. Sirius grinned broadly, and this time his attempt was answered by a shy smile in return; and Remus Lupin, Gryffindor, sat beside his new friend.

They chatted, a little guardedly quietly and with much interruption from the Sorting; two girls joined the Gryffindor ranks before another boy did. Sirius had given him a cursory glance when he had first trotted up to the stool but, immediately deigning him incapable of being Sorted into _his_ House, had turned away; he glanced back only after a few minutes, when he realized he still hadn't been given a House.

This boy was "Pettigrew, Peter", a short, chunky little boy with close-cropped colorless hair, sharp features, and suspiciously beady dark eyes.

_What have we here? _murmured the slow, quiet, eerie voice of the Hat within his head.

_Peter Pettigrew_, the boy answered stolidly, though his fingers, twisting and knotting crazily in his lap, belied his nervousness. _I am—_

The Hat cut him off impatiently. _I know who you are,_ it said, _far beyond your foolish name. I know _what_ you are. Do you?_

_I'm a wizard_, Peter replied. Why was he always being _bullied_? Even by this Hat? Even now that he had finally entered Hogwarts? _That's all I need,_ he added, though he knew it wasn't true…

_If being a wizard was the only thing a wizard every needed, he wouldn't be fidgeting on a stool being Sorted, would he?_ the Hat informed him testily. _I'm a Sorting Hat—you think Sorting is all _I_ need?_

Peter admitted that he had never thought about that. _What else would you need?_ he asked curiously. His fingers had stilled; Peter loved answers, especially ones that no one else knew.

I'm_ doing the examining here, _wizard the Hat notified him. There was a long silence—of sorts—in which Peter could not sense the presence of the Hat in his head, which frightened him more than when the Hat _was_ there. What if he had angered it and he was doomed to sit here for minutes, hours, _days_, until finally the Headmaster swooped down on him and snapped his wand and told him to be gone, that he was no wizard, that—

_Don't be foolish_, the Hat said tetchily. _I have never failed to Sort a witch or wizard into their true house. You're a brave boy—of a sort. A strange sort. But it'll do…_

And the rip opened wide. "GRYFFINDOR!" the Sorting Hat bellowed for all the Hall to hear, and Peter, half-dazed by the abrupt finality of its proclamation, stood only very slowly. His small plump hands cautiously touched the Hat's brim, lingering in removing it from is head. In the last moment before they lost contact, Peter heard, very faintly, _I need secrets. I need minds. I need…_

But then the Hat was off, and Peter handed it to the skinny dark-haired boy waiting impatiently to take it. He glanced around, momentarily confused, then made his way slowly over to the Gryffindor table and sat down. A blonde first-year said his name was Remus, then made a shy motion in the direction of the boy on his either side, and told him that that was "Sirius—uh, Sirius Black." Peter smiled a little.

Sirius, meanwhile, was utterly silent, and he hardly noticed when the Hat declared the pudgy boy to be a Gryffindor. His whole being was concentrated on McGonagall; he grabbed up a fistful of robes and clenched them tight, his small face formed into a practiced expression, hard and closed, in order to not betray his hopes. James Potter…had he ever wished as much as he did then for the company of another human being? James, in the short hours they had known each other, had become a _friend_, more wholly and truly than any of his cousins or brother or rich, haughty neighbors…

"Potter, James!" McGonagall cried—it seemed like years after the last Sorting, though it had been only seconds. A tall, lanky, almost laughably skinny boy with immensely messy jet-black hair and hazel eyes strode forward to accept the Hat. He swaggered; Sirius, watching him, grinned, a grin that broadened as James turned his head slightly to flash him a fearless smile of his own.

_A Potter!_ was the Hat's first response, and James could hear the delight in his voice. _An arrogant Potter—yet aren't they all?_

My father isn't arrogant! cried James, his swift temper breaking through immediately.

_A loyal Potter—yet aren't they all?_

The boy's chin thrust out stubbornly. All his thoughts were concentrated on forming no solid response, which, naturally, was an all too lucid reply for the Hat. _I could keep you sitting here_, said the Hat, _as a first lesson, of a sort. But why bother?_

James smirked. He knew why there was no bother—_ SLYTHERIN!_

He jumped half a foot at the thunderous voice. The students watching all laughed as the boy's pale face was drained to an even whiter bleach, as his eyes grew huge and fearful, as comprehension, and an unconcealed relief, settled into his features and he slumped suddenly on the stool.

_A prank,_ the Hat said, snidely and obviously, _and your first lesson._ Then, "GRYFFINDOR!"

No emotion, at the age of eleven, had ever held James Potter for longer than a few moments, a trait that served him well as he leapt triumphantly from the stool, his grin broad and unconquerable. He tossed the Hat to the next boy—that would be _its_ lesson—and flashed a smile at the reprimanding frown of McGonagall. With a cheery, bouncing stride he passed along the Gryffindor table and through the welcoming noise until he'd reached Sirius Black, who moved easily to make room for him.

"'Lo!" he said merrily, and his irresistible happiness encompassed Peter and Remus, too. They smiled back, far less shyly than they would've an hour ago. "I'm _starved_!"

---

**Alrighty. So that's that. **

**As I mentioned, this series (at least so far, when I'm full of energy and enthusiasm) will include anything that the Marauders and Lily shared, during and after their years at Hogwarts. Next up: First Prank. If anybody has suggestions or requests, drop me a review, and I'll at least consider writing it up. I've been brainstorming, and I have about fifteen themes so far…**

**REVIEW, all!! (Please.) (But really…)**


	2. First Prank

**2: First Prank**

_Revenge is profitable._

—Edward Gibbon

It was the second week of school, and James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter were settled on the floor in a corner of the Gryffindor common room. The older students occupied all of the worthwhile couches and chairs, and they had been saved from certain death (according to James) at the hands of "Potter and Black, Esquires" only by the soft-spoken, jumpy Remus. Sirius and James were still sulking.

"They aren't even that much older than us!" growled Sirius, whose ancestral arrogance was in a raging mood at the moment.

"Certainly not better looking," said Remus mildly. The others glanced at him sharply, then all burst out laughing at once.

"I agree," said Peter solemnly, which only made them laugh harder. He smiled himself a little.

"They think they _own_ this tower," said James after a moment, not be dissuaded from his protest. "Honestly, if they think a _Potter_ is going to stand for that—or a Black—they're dead wrong."

"Oh?" said Remus. He had already become the voice of reason although, rather than deterring his friends' antics, his efforts would only come to result in better-planned fiascoes.

"Yes," replied James, deadly serious, his hazel eyes glinting beneath his shaggy dark locks. He sat very straight—he always did when unsettled. "Just you wait. I want retaliation. Better yet, I want _respect_!"

"Stuff it," said Sirius idly, grinning. "You just want to humiliate them, don't you? Pull a prank?"

James smiled his sly answer to that.

"Remus," came a sudden voice, interrupting the boys' thoughts, "I was wondering if I could talk to you—just for a moment."

Their heads turned quickly. It was Lily Evans, the redheaded girl who hung around with that Slytherin first-year, Snape, so much. James and Sirius's eyes narrowed with dislike, but she ignored them; she would speak only with Remus, the only one of the four who had as yet given her no reason to dislike him; she had told him just last week that she disapproved of the company he kept with. Remus had responded, very politely and with absolute political correctness, roughly what he thought of that—which wasn't much.

"Erm…" he said uncertainly, glancing around at his companions. James rolled his eyes at him and, taking that as permission from the foursome's unofficial leader, he rose, only to have his upper arm submitted to Lily's vice grip as she dragged him off to the far corner of the Common Room.

"I heard what you were talking about," she said the moment they were out of the general earshot of their fellow Gryffindors.

Remus's pale, narrow face passed rapidly from confusion to surprise to discomfort and then to mulish defiance. He scowled and crossed his arms stubbornly. "So?"

Clearly, Lily hadn't expected such boldness from Remus, who had so swiftly established himself as a generally meek rabbit-sort. She blinked, taken aback, then glared right back. "So, I think you should leave off it."

Remus shrugged. "Why? We're right—the older students _do_ hog the chairs. It's not fair. So we're going to take care of them…with or without your approval."

Lily glanced around at the fifth-, sixth-, and seventh-years, curled up or lounging back on all of the best-lit, warmest and most comfortable chairs and couches. She frowned, then allowed her eyes to flick back to Remus's face. She was oddly comforted by the fact that she was at least an inch taller than him.

"Tell McGonagall." 

Remus gaped. "Are you kidding? What's she care about who sits where? No, we can take care of this."

"But—" Lily was being swayed, and they both knew it. To save her from the shame of the admission that her current worst enemies might be correct, Remus said gently, "Hey. We'll take care of it. Just keep your mouth shut, okay?"

Lily knew what he was doing, and what she must now do; she shot him a last offended, disgusted look, and trounced off out of the portrait hole. Remus grinned briefly, then made his was back over to his impatiently waiting friends.

"Nice one, Remus," said Sirius heartily, slapping him on the back as he resettled himself beside him. "That's how you handle girls."

James, about to agree, hesitated. "That's how you treat any browner eavesdroppers," he said, casting a swift look in Sirius's direction—not condemning, but simply wondering.

Remus scowled. "If you're going to eavesdrop with spells, you can hardly lecture about eavesdropping from sheer skill," he said.

"You've got that backwards," Peter disagreed. "This is Hogwarts—it's dirty to do stuff the Muggle way when you can use a spell."

Remus opened his mouth to respond, but James held up an imperious hand. "No bickering," he said. "We need to plan. Remus?"

Startled, "What?"

"Oh, you're our planner—didn't we tell you?" Everyone laughed, but not mockingly; their teasing was gentle, comradely, welcoming.

Remus took that seriously. "Well…" he began, then stopped. His face colored slightly, and you could see the strain of plotting in his clenched features. "Well…"

"We're kidding, mate," said Sirius, elbowing him and grinning. "This will be a group effort. An effort of the…"

"Yes?" prompted James.

Sirius grimaced. "We'll work on a name later. Meanwhile, we want our chairs!"

"It's not just chairs," said James solemnly. "We want respect, too. Recognition—"

"Honor—" added Sirius, and not entirely jokingly.

"—and, of course—"

"Fun!"

"That's right," said James. "The ultimate prank. I spend most of my summers with my cousins in Liverpool, and we've had on ongoing practical-joke-war for years. We call 'em 'prank wars'."

Sirius snickered his enthusiastic support of both name and concept.

"'Course," continued James, "these louts"—he gestured generally at the lethargic older student settled around the common room—"probably couldn't plan a prank to save their arrogant hides, let along carry it out—so we definitely have the upper hand."

"Hear, hear," said Peter.

"The question, of course, is _how_ to prank them. What's their weakness? What do they care about?"

There was a pause.

"Snogging?" ventured Peter.

"N.E.W.T.s? O.W.L.s?" guessed Remus.

"Their chairs?" Sirius postulated. The other laughed.

"I agree," said James, who hadn't joined in the brief chuckle; his posture was once more stiff and straight.

"With?"

"All of you…" James grinned. "This will take some serious hexing, now. Nothing, ah, _fatal_, of course—"

"And nothing permanently debilitating, right?" added Remus, his voice severe.

"Sure…" said James vaguely, his hazel eyes clouded with devious plans. "_This_ prank war will be much better—we have wands. And a whole library…Remus, that's up to you. Peter, you've got to find out who's dating whom among the senior Gryffindors. I don't care about the other Houses—just Gryffindor couples. No, I take that back. Any couples. But that will get tricky…Yes! Sirius, you come with me, quick. I can't believe you three didn't remember what they care _most_ about…"

"What do they care most about?" Peter hissed to Remus as the other two scrambled up and hurried up the stairs to their dorm. For once, though, Remus didn't know the answer.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

It was the first of October, a date both chosen for the clubs meeting on that day, and also conveniently happened upon after long days of planning. A notebook tucked in Remus's inner robe pocket held thirty-eight pages of scribbled observations, times, names, plans, and, lastly, a perfectly planned itinerary, which held nearly every minute of the first of October to one of tasks to be done. A sample would have included:

_Jack Clancy__—seventh year, dating Chelsea Booker (R.) and/or __Seandra Blear__ (G.) Advanced Potions, DADA, Transfiguration, Herbology_

_Carrie Matthews—GIVES SEATS TO YOUNGER KIDS ONCE DONE_

_John Johnson—sixth year, dating __Mariah Zeffin__ (G.) Advanced DADA, remedial Potions, COMC, Astrology, Transfiguration_

If needed, see end of chapter for key 

_R, were you paying attention in Potions?_

_STOP PASSING NOTES, SIRIUS. She's hinting a pop quiz._

_She's not. Pass to me, S._

_Nah, it's no fun if you don't threaten me. Toughen up, James._

_Insulted._

_You would be._

_Whoa, she actually did just say pop quiz!_

_Hell. Ask Remus if we can cheat off him._

_**NO!!!**_

_He means only if you do his Transfiguration homework._

_Actually, in that case…_

_Possible spells:_

_Cannilepso—binds lips. Two pairs, one pair? Remus, you check. CHECKED, FIND ANOTHER_

_Morrassi—binds fabrics. Sirius, you test. TESTED, IT WORKS._

_Sorlefto—crumples papers. JAMES TESTED, IT WORKS._

This stretched on, and on—pages upon quill-darkened pages, filled with ideas that had been scribbled in and then either scratched out or boldly circled to identify their importance to "the campaign".

Now, at long last, the four boys settled themselves in the corner of the common room that had, to their chagrin, become a sort of second home—though, they constantly reminded themselves and each other, not for long. They turned their bright, eager, scheming eyes on the upperclassmen Gryffindors, already settled in their chairs for a long night's studying, snogging, and planning.

Their gazes rested on four specific chairs. They had worried about this part of the plan, well aware that their claiming of them would be only too obviously revealing after everyone else had been magically driven from their cushions. Their faith in a Gryffindor's respect for bravery and impudence was worn rather thin by eight o'clock when, with a series of loud little bangs, the preset spells suddenly became active.

Gary Hoff, Michael Vennson, Sylvia Roth, Jack Clancy and Seandra Blear were comfortably settled in the four chairs, the latter pair nauseatingly entwined in one, at the planned moment. Immediately the sheets bearing Gary and Michael's homework—Potions and Herbology, respectively—crumpled into tiny balls; Sylvia Roth, captain of the Quidditch team, displayed her impressive vocabulary of curses as her intricate plans for the upcoming game folded itself into an elaborate flower; and Jack Clancy and Seandra Blear made frantic, muffled cries of horror as they found their lips literally (rather than just figuratively) glued together.

Sylvia leapt, snarling, to her feet; the moment she lost contact with her chair, her Quidditch plans unfolded itself once more into a perfectly flat sheet of parchment. Frowning, she sat down again, holding the paper delicately; again, when she touched the chair, the plans became a flower. She stood and sat once more, to be sure, then, with a noise that could be roughly associated with a snarl, stalked out of the room and up into the girls' tower.

Meanwhile, Michael and Gary shared a similar experience with their homework, which would smooth out when they stood, baffled, and crumple again when they sat. It was less than a minute before they, too, deserted their seats, Michael for the library and Gary for the floor.

Jack Clancy and Seandra Blear's situation was even more humorous. Stuck up and blatantly promiscuous, they were generally disliked; seeing them struggling on the chair, the veins and muscles of their necks bulging, trying desperately to shove the other away, made the other occupants of the common room roar with uninhibited laughter. Red with fury, effort and humiliation, Seandra finally wriggled off of Jack's lap, pulling him to his feet at the same time; and, again, the moment they no longer touched the chair, they were freed. Glowering, they regarded the final moments of Michael's struggle before slinking from the room, most likely to a deserted classroom.

The moment they were gone, Remus, Peter, James and Sirius stood and strode purposefully across the room to sit, with exaggerated care, in the abandoned seats. For several seconds there was absolute silence; then a fourth year whistled his approval, and the Gryffindors broke out into appreciative and admiring cheers. Several students—even those in their senior years, including Gary Hoff, but particularly those between the first and third—came over to slap them on their backs. Lily Evans, who had brought her own bed's cushions downstairs in an attempt to make herself comfortable, tried unsuccessfully to suppress her own smile. The boys relaxed and grinned at one other.

"_Way_ too much planning," said James an hour later as he warmed his feet in the heat of the fire. "Never again. We didn't even need most of it…From now on, pranks will be spontaneous. Rule number one: no more than three days' planning may go into any single venture."

Sirius yawned. "Rule number two: one-half of all pranks must be made against Slytherins."

The other laughed appreciatively, except Remus, who was frowning slightly with concentration as he scribbled in the blank notebook he was supposed to have been saving for Astronomy. "I'm copying the rules down," he said when he glanced up to meet their questioning gazes.

"There should be a rule against pranking Gryffindors," said Peter suddenly. "I mean…" he trailed off. "I mean, this was great—we wanted seats, and we got them, and, and respect and honor too, but still…"

"Still, pranking your own house is dirty," finished James. "I agree. Rule number three: no pranks may be made against your own house unless absolutely necessary."

Remus copied this carefully. "Should there be sub-clauses for that?" he asked, quite seriously.

Sirius chucked a cushion at him. "Don't even _think_ it," he said, laughing.

------

_Sirius-__**R, were you paying attention in Potions?**_

_Remus-__**STOP PASSING NOTES, SIRIUS. She's hinting a pop quiz.**_

_James-__**She's not. Pass to me, S.**_

_Sirius-__**Nah, it's no fun if you don't threaten me. Toughen up, James.**_

_James-__**Insulted.**_

_Sirius-__**You would be.**_

_James-__**Woah, she actually did just say pop quiz!**_

_Sirius-__**Hell. Ask Remus if we can cheat of him.**_

_Remus-__**NO!!! **_

_Sirius-__**He means only if you do his Transfiguration homework.**_

_Remus-__**Actually, in that case…**_

**Thanks for reading!**

**Again, if enybody has suggestions/requests, such as a special event from the Marauders' time you want me to write about, drop me a line (AKA review/PM)…**

**And on the subject of reviews…I want one from YOU!!!**


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